


Vignettes

by Dream_Wreaver



Series: At What Cost Universe [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Not Part of the Main Storyline, Send Me Asks and I will Write More, Universe Related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/Dream_Wreaver
Summary: With all the melodrama center stage some get left in the wings. Here are their stories.





	1. Their First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So... this is basically going to be a collection of the dribbles I did on Tumblr for the At What Cost Universe. Basically this is here so that no one has to go digging through my or their Tumblr to reread these stories. If anyone has any characters/ships that they want to see in that universe (that don't contradict the narrative of course) let me know on Tumblr and I'll put them here. Anyways, Enjoy

“Daddy!” Chloe whined, “Why must I wait to be betrothed?”

“My darling Chloe,” Andre replied, “This is the modern era. Arranged marriages are a thing of the past.”

“But I want to be in an arranged marriage with Adrikins!” she pouted petulantly. The young noblewoman had known the Agreste heir since they were incredibly small. As such she had developed a rather possessive attachment to him and didn’t want him to be taken from her by any means necessary. An arranged marriage seemed to be the only way to secure that.

“I will speak to Lord Agreste and see if we cannot work something out,” Andre soothed, trying to appease his daughter’s tantrum, “Do not lose hope my princess.”

But hope had had to hold out for over four years, and Chloe certainly wasn’t getting any younger. At just nineteen years she was considered a spinster for her status. Yet despite the numerous offers for her hand that she’d had when she’d first debuted into high society she’d rejected them all, hoping her father would convince His Grace to come around and give Adrien to her. But as of yet to no avail. Now, she was starting to worry, what if she wasted away waiting for her dream and by the time he was convinced she would have nothing left to offer. Chloe’s skills in running a household were… average at best. Yes, she knew how to command a room and order people about. But being a high society wife was about more than that. The problem was, was that Chloe wasn’t a good hostess. But Adrien was. They balanced each other out

“Daddy,” she said to him one day, “I want Adrien, and I want him now.”

“I’m so sorry princess,” Andre had apologized, much as he did every day he wasn’t able to fulfill his daughter’s wishes, “But Lord Agreste is a notoriously difficult man to get ahold of…”

“That’s not good enough!” Chloe stomped her foot, “Adrien belongs to me, and that is final!” She stormed off, intent on making her wrath felt throughout the house. Woe betide anyone foolish enough to get in her way.

“Wait my darling!” Andre called after her, halting her storm of destruction before she could make it to anything truly valuable, “What shall daddy buy you to make you feel better hm? New gowns? Ribbons? Bonnets? Oh! I know, how about I have a portrait commissioned to immortalize your beauty for all time?”

That gave her pause, “You would really do that?” she turned on him with excited eyes.

“Of course,” Andre quickly agreed, “It can be something you could take with you when we get the wedding together, or you could leave it here so your father always has a memory of his little girl. Your choice of course.”

Chloe scoffed, “You can have a cameo made of me,” she insisted, “I want that portrait only for my husband’s eyes. Hire the best painter in Europe and have them sent for immediately.”

“Yes my darling,” Andre simpered, “Right away.”

MLB

What Chloe got was _not_ what she expected. Though, if you asked her, what she got was not what she had ordered. Instead of the best painter in Europe, she got a mousy looking redhead who clutched a leather-bound journal tightly against his chest. His clothing was at _least_ a season out of fashion, if not more, and judging by the unkempt state of the rest of his appearance, he had to be too poor to keep up.

She eyed the mistake with distaste and turned to her father, “Daddy,” she began, tone saccharinely sweet, “Who is this?”

“This is Nathaniel Kurtzburg,” Andre answered, “He’ll be painting your portrait.”

“I believe,” she continued in an almost simpering tone, “That what I asked for was the _best painter_ in Europe,” she inhaled, and then let her rage truly fly, “Does _this_ look like the best painter in all of Europe!” she tossed an accusatory hand at the painter, “Send him back and get me a better one.”

“But Chloe,” Andre protested, “He is the _protege_ to the greatest painter in all Europe. Why, for the last couple of years all the masterpieces he’s produced have had the majority of their work completed by Monseigneur Kurtzburg. Surely, he is the best we could get so quickly?”

“Not good enough!” Chloe replied, “Do you think so little of me daddy?” fake tears welled in her eyes, “That you couldn’t bother to get me the best? You settled for an amateur to capture the beauty of your own daughter!”

“My Lady,” Nathaniel broke in, “Might I have but an hour of your time? I can promise you that even a simple sketch by me would capture more of your beauty than any other artist.”

Chloe raised a brow at that, always willing to quash impetuous peasants who forgot their place, “Alright,” she agreed, “You have one hour to produce a sketch that pleases me. If it does not you will leave, is that clear?”

“Crystal, your ladyship,” Nathaniel bowed.

And so they found themselves in an otherwise unoccupied room, sitting across from each other. Chloe was in a pose that was easy enough to maintain, but she was quickly growing bored. Which was odd, considering the only time Nathaniel’s eyes left hers was to commemorate her visage onto the papers he had in his journal. And even then, it seemed he was referring back to her every few strokes.

“This is taking too long,” Chloe complained, shifting her arm to touch her hair. Like a shot Nathaniel’s arm reached out and snatched her wrist, keeping it in a vise grip, “What are you-” Chloe sputtered, “Get your hands off me!”

“Then don’t move,” his voice was hard, and serious, and even a little dark. His blue eyes seemed to glow ominously from the shadows cast by his messy hair, “Perhaps I should have warned you about this before we started but, I take my art _very_ seriously Lady Bourgeois. And if you aren’t willing to take this as seriously as I am I will ask you to stop wasting my time with half-hearted commissions.”

With that, he let her wrist go and automatically Chloe’s hand returned to position. By the time the hour was up Nathaniel had produced a highly detailed and highly realistic sketch of Chloe. It looked beautiful and he hadn’t even worked with colors. Both the Bourgeois' were amazed by this. He was truly a master in the making. And to have his first official commissioned portrait be of Chloe, it was an opportunity no one could pass up.

“If it is quite alright with you Lord Bourgeois, might I have a word with your daughter? Alone?”

Andre was many things. But above all else, he was a very simple man. And it was because he saw no threat from someone who, while talented and sure to be successful was still very much beneath them in status, he saw no harm in leaving his beloved daughter alone with him.

Nathaniel turned to the young lady with a determined look in his eye, “Has my work pleased you my lady?” he asked.

“More than I thought you capable of,” Chloe grumbled. It had been more incredible than she would have _ever_ expected from just an hour long sketch. To deny him the honor of painting her now would be foolish.

“Will you allow me to paint your portrait then?”

Chloe sighed, making a show of how unaffected by his genius she allegedly was, “I suppose,” she replied.

He sunk to one knee and took her hand, bestowing a kiss on the gloved appendage, “You are too kind,” he said, though his tone contained no warmth, “But, you are still too wild. However, I have no doubt that with enough time, and _patience_ , I can make you more beautiful than anyone, even Botticelli’s Venus. The only question is, are you willing to do it?”

“Chloe Bourgeois is no coward,” Chloe replied in the haughtiest tone she could manage, “If you can make me more beautiful than anyone then prove it. I’m willing.”

“My thanks My Lady,” he placed another kiss on her hand as he rose, eyes just as icy as before, “I look forward to painting you,” he parted on that note, turning his back and walking out the door.

For some reason she couldn’t explain, Chloe felt her knees give out from under her. Her heart was pounding, and despite claiming she was no coward she felt her heart pounding with relief that he had left her in peace. What wasn’t so easily explained away by fear, however, was the incredibly flustered blush that painted itself on her cheeks.


	2. Petty Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the ball of At What Cost chapters 12-13

The saying went that ignorance was bliss. Clearly that saying didn’t account for purposeful ignorance. But then, he wondered, was it _really_ ignorance if it was done on purpose? The twisted, paradoxical nature of these thoughts made his head hurt. It was the reason he was an artist, not a philosopher.

But she _was_ purposefully ignoring him. It was something she did when she was upset. And sometimes Nathaniel felt she went out of her way to _find_  reasons to be upset with him. Even though he’d used his money and connections to get invited this party he could care less about, bought a new outfit he would never wear again because it was too stuffy, and had been the perfect gentleman all evening. And yet she somehow _still_ wasn’t satisfied.

A lesser man might have thought she was just selfish and insatiable, with nothing ever being good enough for her. Nathaniel knew that wasn’t true. Because if it had been she never would have fallen in love with him, she would have gone ahead with her meaningless arranged marriage to her childhood friend. So he _had_ to have done done something to upset her, the problem was that the littlest thing could set her off so he had no idea what it was he had done. And not only was she purposefully ignoring him, their only relationship in the public’s eye had been that of patron and painter. He couldn’t approach her as familiarly as he was accustomed to. Not here, not now.

But Nathaniel was nothing if not patient. Painting required it, and he was a notorious perfectionist in his art. Patience was a game he was good at playing. But Lady Chloe? Not so much. In the meantime he made small talk, chatting with the sweet and charming Madamoiselle Dupain-Cheng, whose acquaintance he’d made earlier and even shared a dance with. She was nice enough, and had Nathaniel met her first he might have even fallen for her. But as it was, it wasn’t a sugary sweet confection that had his attention and his appetite. It was a delightful, bittersweet lemon tart.

He didn’t have to wait long, soon enough she made the usual platitudes, excusing herself from the hot ballroom for some air. Nathaniel slipped out behind her utterly unnoticed. The garden of the family hosting the soirée was almost as big as the forum in Rome. Of course, that was because this was at a country estate just outside of Paris, but the point still stood. Chloe was pacing frustratedly. He had no doubt she wished her lady’s maid Pollen was there, Chloe considered the girl her only confidant. Or, she had been until he’d come along.

“That maddening, frustrating, sleazy son of a-”

“Such language from a lady,” Nathaniel took on a casual posture, reveling in the stunned, shocked reaction it elicited from her, “One night wonder where you learned such filthy words.”

Chloe had never been one to back down from a fight, especially not when she thought she was in the right, “I don’t see what business of yours it is what language _I_ use Monseigneur.”

Her tone was tart, much like her personality. He wondered how much coaxing it would take to bring out her sweetness.

“Good gracious,” Nathaniel put his hand to his heart in a display of theatrics, “Have I done something to offend the Lady’s delicate senses? How can I repair this offense? Must I throw myself at your feet and beg forgiveness goddess?”

Her lips twitched, a barely there smile as she coolly replied, “It would certainly be a start.”

“Shall I kiss the ground you walk on, that blessed, sacra terra?” Nathaniel asked, drawing closer to her, “Or should these blushing pilgrims pay homage somewhere else?”

He saw her cheeks pink, “You know it’s cheating to use Shakespeare against me, don’t you?”

“But soft, what light through yonder garden breaks? It is the east, yet Lady Chloe is the sun. Arise fair sun, and put shame to the envious moon.”

She was in his arms now, and he was whispering the Bard into her ear, all the while she quietly and weakly whined, “Stop,” not at all meaning it.

“Then how do you suggest I hold my tongue?” Nathaniel pulled away enough to look her in the eyes.

“I believe I have a few ideas,” Chloe replied.

It was only later, after their hair and clothes had been mused but mostly set to rights, that he was able to get the heart of the matter out of her.

“I can’t believe you danced with her,” Chloe sniffed disdainfully as she straightened her gloves, tugging at them in a fastidious manner.

“With who my sun?” Nathaniel asked as he struggled with his cravat.

“That Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe told him, “Don’t you know she’s after Adrikins? And he’s still nice enough to sponsor her, he must really want to be rid of her.”

“What business is it of ours what your friend chooses to do, so long as he doesn’t try and take you away.”

“And what if Marinette Dupain-Chang has set her sights on you?” Chloe arched a brow at him.

“It’s her loss,” Nathaniel shrugged, “I’m only interested in one beauty, and the sun prefers gold my darling.”

She flushed and he added, “Though I find a touch of red also becomes her.”


	3. Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the story began, there were two blondes. And both had very different ways of looking at the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by my friend poppicock, some Emilie & Audrey for everyone. Enjoy!

“Emilie darling you can’t  _ imagine _ the day I’ve had!” Audrey swept into the room dramatically, collapsing on her friend’s divan while the gentler blonde worked on her needlepoint.

“How did things go with the young Lord Bourgeois this morning?” Emilie asked, only barely glancing up from the steady stream of work her fingers were producing. As always Audrey wore a pristine white muslin gown, a testament to her family’s wealth if ever there was one.

“He was dull and tedious and absolutely a bore to talk to,” Audrey never minced her words, that was for sure, “But he’s wealthy and titled and weak-willed, which makes him the ideal man to marry.”

“Oh?” Emilie had to physically stop and raise a hand to suppress her giggle. Audrey was ever the pragmatist, which meant she looked at men in much the same way men looked at her. Only finding them worthy based on what they could give her, “You think so?”

“Of course!” Audrey declared, “And I’ve already gotten him utterly charmed by me. I expect a marriage proposal will come soon. And then, I pop out an heir or two, and I have my freedom. Freedom from responsibility, freedom from worry, freedom to go where I please. It’ll be wonderful. And as I’ve told you a million times before,  _ you _ ought to consider doing the same.”

“Audrey, I love you,” Emilie set her work to the side. Nothing ever got done when Audrey was around, namely because she commanded attention in word, deed, and presence. It was better to simply indulge her than futilly try to fight it, “But I just don’t see how I could live that kind of life.”

“With ease,” Audrey assured her, “Think of it, Europe at your beck and call, and beyond! We could get apartments in New York, Milan, Madrid. Think of the freedom, the fashion, the lovers of every shape and size! And all you need to do is pop by long enough to realistically have ‘conceived’ your husband’s heir. It’s the perfect life for a woman.”

“And are you not tethered by your husband’s purse strings?” Emilie asked.

“So what if I am?” Audrey countered, “Do you really expect a girl of  _ our _ status and peerage to  _ work _ ? With our  _ hands _ ?” she shuddered, “How revolting.”

“Audrey,” Emilie shook her head, “I get that’s what you want out of life. And I respect that, and support it. And I will continue loving you no matter what you choose to do. But I can’t live that kind of life. I want a husband, and children, and a settled life. I don’t really like travelling.”

Audrey narrowed her eyes contemplatively at her, “You only talk like that when you’ve taken a fancy to someone,” she sighed, “Alright, who is it this time?”

“This time?” Emilie repeated incredulously, “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“You flit from tendre to tendre like a bee to flowers in spring.” Audrey declared, “You have since you were little, and it hasn’t changed. So tell me, who is the latest gentleman who’s managed to capture my innocent Emilie’s affections?”

“Well,” a delicate blush painted itself on her cheeks and she fiddled with a stray lock of hair, “As of late I’ve found the young Mr. Agreste quite charming.”

Audrey was silent for a full minute. And Emilie knew when she finally  _ did _ speak it would be no good words.

“Gabriel Agreste?” her tone was halfway between aghast and scandalized, “You’re holding a torch for  _ Gabriel Agreste _ ?”

“Is it really so wrong that I find him aimiable?”

“It is when he has absolutely  _ no _ prospects, Emilie!” Audrey groaned, “How could you possibly be so naive? He’s the very definition of a fortune hunter. Handsome, charming, and utterly without distinction.”

“But he’s of noble blood just like us!” Emilie protested.

“Please,” Audrey rolled her eyes, “He’s the son of a second son. A  _ disinherited _ second son at that. And all because love was more important. His father was a fool, and so are you if you go along with this. Just because he’s got blue blood does not excuse the wastrel’s blood within him as well. He will  _ never _ be worthy of you, nor any other decent girl. Not unless his uncle and cousin die tragically without another nearer heir, but the odds of that happening? Nonexistent.”

Audrey relaxed on the divan, “Mark my words, Emilie darling,” she insisted, “We’ll soon find out who has the happier lifestyle.”

It was several years later that Audrey sat in a pew of Notre Dame with a scowl on her face as she watched Emilie wed the now titled and wealthy Lord Gabriel Agreste. Apparently, the Lady Bourgeois was prophetic in her sarcasm, as exactly what she had predicted had some to pass. And while she scowled for the dreg her best friend was marrying, the look of joy on Emilie’s face even managed to make  _ Gabriel Agreste _ seem tolerable. At least for a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Leave a comment and let me know. Until next time everyone


	4. Stregato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origin story for Jalil and Lila

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The minute I write them in, I had to write a backstory. Oh well, hope it's enjoyable.

Rome was a beautiful city. Especially considering it was at least a thousand years old. He stood within the past and within the present. And yet, scarcely anyone who lived there seemed to be aware of it. The rumors had been that the Coliseum, one of the most breathtaking examples of classical architecture known to man, had been used as a refuse heap. It was better now, but there was still a long way to go. It seemed rather hopeless to believe that people would stop and take notice of the sights they saw every day. They weren’t marvels, it was the same as it ever was. Then again, would Notre Dame have been restored if not for the literary brilliance of Monseigneur Hugo? Jalil didn’t think so.

But the question was, did he have the same literary genius? What’s more, could he pull it off in Italian? Likely as not the answer was no. He could speak the language and read it, but when it came to writing it… well, he refrained from writing Italian letters for a reason. He would need a partner to help remind the citizens of the truth marvels that dotted the landscape. Things worthy of study and preservation, if only the people would wake up to it. But who would be capable of helping him inspire such zeal within the public?

He went to countless parties, as a member of the French aristocracy, no matter how low-ranking. He mingled here and there, trying to subtly drop the topic into conversation. But the problem with most people in his world was that they were too rich to really give a damn. Whatever rare and priceless thing they wanted, they bought, and if they couldn’t buy it they didn’t care about it. Only a month in of his six month sojourn and he was already feeling burnt out and dejected. How could he make them see what was right in front of them?

He had decided to take a break with his pipe out on the balcony of some nameless nobleman’s house during his party. There were too many people for his liking. Well, too many people simply being idle. Aristocrats the Kubdels might have been, but only on a technicality. A majority of them were more bourgeoise in their attitudes towards word. If they had the education, they had to put it to good use. Jalil’s father worked in the Louvre. His little sister Alix had come on this expedition to study the artistry of the cathedrals in Ravenna, as well as some of its other buildings. Jalil had been more preoccupied with the major cities of the Italian peninsula, Ravenna was lower on his list of priorities. Besides, Alix was a force all her own, Jalil had no doubt that should she wish to engage with historic preservation she could manage the entire town all her own.

“Why all alone?” a young lady asked in Italian, startling him out of his reverie. He began stuttering in French, surprising the young lady herself. Immediately she adjusted herself, “Is this better?” she asked, French as flawless as a native speaker.

A polyglot, well, she was already more interesting than half the other people in that room. She was bedecked in orange and white, a glittering mask highlighting the green of her eyes. Soft looking ears poked out of her mass of hair. It was a masquerade they were attending, Jalil perhaps mistakenly dressed as a Roman centurion. She appeared to be a fox.

“I am quite able to converse in either,” Jalil replied back, in Italian, “Just as you are Madameoiselle…”

“Volpina,” she provided, “It is still a masquerade is it not? And what about you Caesar?”

“Just,” Jalil thought back to his fruitless attempts from earlier, “needed a little air, and a smoke. You don’t mind do you?”

“So long as the smoke goes into the air and not my face, why should I?” she replied.

“So, Miss Volpina,” Jalil began after lighting his pipe and drawing on the sweet smelling spice he’d packed it with, “What brings you out here?”

“Same as you,” she answered, though her tone sounded a little more wry than honest, “I wanted some air.”

“I think you’re lying,” Jalil blurted out before he could help himself.

“I think you’re right,” she admitted without shame.

“So what really brought you out here then?”

“Not telling,” she giggled, “It’s a secret.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I want it to be,” she replied matter-of-factly, “Now, you’ve interrogated me enough. Let’s try the opposite; what’s got you so upset?”

“Why would you possibly think I’m upset?” Jalil asked in reply.

“Dejection is written across your face,” she explained, “And when you make a habit of manipulating people like I do, you get to be incredibly good at reading people’s body language.”

“Have you no shame at all?” he asked, “Admitting to such an unappealing quality as that before a veritable stranger.”

“We’ve shared our names,” she parried, “I’d say that makes us more than strangers.”

“We haven’t-” he gave up that battle rather quickly, something in his gut told him there wouldn’t be any winning with her. Someone who was a professional manipulator would be too good at wordplay to make this a brief fight, “Fine, but why admit such a thing at all?”

“See, there’s a thing I’ve learned about lying,” she shrugged, draining the last of her wine from its glass and setting it on the stone railing, “You need to be able to build trust in order to exploit it. The best way to build trust is to be honest. Besides, you can always count on a dishonest man to be dishonest. I would hurt you way less were I to deceive you now than if I had never told you at all. And,” she added with a smirk, “If you know me to be a liar, it makes it that much more fun for me to watch you squirm.”

“Squirm?” he raised a brow, “And what makes you think I would do that?”

“You see,” she lifted one hand casually, “I’ve lived a pretty exciting life. But some of my wonderful stories are true, and some of them are lies. The fun part is watching you try to figure out which is which.”

Before he could reply, he heard a clocktower sound in the distance. Midnight, was it really midnight already? How long ago had he stepped out here?

Volpina looked out into the distance, long, loose hair stirred by a passing breeze. “Midnight,” she breathed, “Do you know what that means?”

“What?”

“L’ora delle streghe,” she replied, translating for him, “The Witching Hour.”

“Does that mean you’re going to disappear in a puff of smoke?”

She paused and looked at him a moment, then smiled, and chuckled. A delicate hand raised and pulled at something behind her head. A ribbon came loose. The mask began to slip. Without it she looked just as beautiful, but capable of blending in with the hazy swirl of dresses and costumes inside. The unmasking had begun for them too.

Volpina boldly stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his chest, winsome and disarming smile already in place. Before Jalil could really process what was happening she was kissing him, arms winding around his neck. He found himself unable to do anything but reciprocate. When after an eternity she pulled away, there was the whisper of her answer on her lips.

“Exactly,” echoed on the breeze, even as she seemed to disappear before his very eyes. It was only after he stared stupidly into space for a few moments that Jalil realized his own mask had been pilfered by her clever hands.

Immediately he returned to the party to track her down. He didn’t get very far when attention was turned to the host. Jalil recalled now that he was a wealthy, aristocratic diplomat by the name of Rossi.

“My friends and colleagues,” he began jovially, clearly intoxicated from hours of revelry, “On behalf of my family and I, we would like to thank you for attending our masquerade. The unmasking was a complete success, and I believe my daughter has had you all bewildered with how lovely she has grown.” Jalil watched as a resplendent young woman in orange and white stepped forward from the shadows at the base of the staircase. His jaw dropped. Especially when he saw that she held his mask in her hand. And she knew it too, since she otherwise kept it discreetly tucked behind her back once she knew he’d seen it. His daughter, Jalil had kissed the ambassador’s daughter. Ambassador Rossi continued, “Allow me to formally introduce, my daughter; the young Lady Lila Rossi.”

Applause filled the air, but Jalil felt numb. The mingling would continue, even as some of the revelers began to filter out. Lila remained by her father’s side the entire rest of Jalil’s duration there. But he noticed that every time she caught him staring, she would give a coquettish little smile.

MLB

She had to be planning it. For the past several times Jalil had business with the ambassador she had been there. Lila’s claim was that she was interested, not only in the work her father did, but the alleged work he wanted to accomplish at all. However, whenever Jalil began to lecture on the importance of restoring the Colosseum and other ancient pieces of architecture, he watched her eyes immediately glaze over, thoughts clearly somewhere else. At the very least, she wasn’t alone in this attitude, as despite how carefully he claimed to listen, the Ambassador only gave him generalized platitudes when Jalil asked about how soon they might be able to bring his concerns before the government.

“These things take time my boy,” he would say as he clapped a hand on Jalil’s back, the other occupied either with a glass of port or a young and attractive female servant. Jalil hated the man’s caddish ways, unfortunately he was too good at his job to warrant any words against him. And the maids seemed to enjoy the attention, so who was he to intervene?

“You know,” Lila commented as Jalil borrowed the family’s private library for the nth time since his arrival, “The reason you can’t get anyone to listen isn’t because it’s boring, it’s because you’re not passionate.”

“Passionate?” history was his life. If there was anything at all he was passionate about, it was this.

“My people respond to passion, to zest. When you speak about this it is as though you are trying to convince only our minds, and not our hearts. Both need to be swayed, to be stirred in order to get anyone to care. And you, you’re just not selling it.”

“And what do you propose I do?” Jalil asked, “I can’t write a proposal on my own! My written Italian skills are deep-seated in the language of academia. I can write  _ Latin _ better than this language!”

“Maybe you just need a little help,” she suggested.

“What?” he asked, “From you?”

“Why not?” Lila countered, “Sometimes you need to play upon people to get them to listen. Who better than a master to help you with that?”

“And I expect a master manipulator to be so kind as to share her skills with me freely?” his question was sarcastic, a fact which did not go unnoticed.

“See?” she teased, “You’re learning already.”

“And what price would you ask?”

“I want a grand romance,” she shrugged, “Papa thinks you’re far too stodgy to ever make a move, yet he won’t let me near any boys my age.”

“So you’re using me for fun?”

“No more than you’re using me to achieve your own goals,” Lila replied, holding out a hand, “What do you say?”

Jalil looked over his shoulder. The library door was closed. And no one seemed concerned. If that didn’t speak to how unconcerned her father was with Jalil’s intentions towards his progeny, he didn’t know what did. So, he grabbed a hand and replied, “Deal,” right before hauling her into his arms and kissing her again.

MLB

Likely as not it was due to the secrecy in which their liaisons were shrouded, but it was exciting being with her. They had free reign to meet in private once Lila claimed she wanted to help Jalil’s cause. Which she did, but not before exacting her own pound of flesh first. The problem with that was that it usually left his head too muddled to think about what he should have been.

Eventually, they were able to accomplish it. A public appeal was put into print and circulated throughout Rome. The people started talking, started thinking, started seeing. The value of their homeland, of how other people from outside their world saw it. And how profitable it could be to maintain it. It was followed by several more publicized documents, denouncing the wealthy who did not do their duty to the people by helping to preserve these historic landmarks, entreating the public to rise in favor of this.

Jalil and Lila watched the chaos they caused with glee, sharing stolen kisses in the dark. But, six months came to an end. And it had been expensive, the city was still a popular destination for a lot of people. And with the restoration projects being set into motion, the cost would only increase. Jalil had felt he had exhausted the goodwill of the ambassador at this point -his sense of timing had interrupted several of the ambassador’s own liaisons- and there would be no affordable place for Jalil to set up shop in the country.

“I guess this is goodbye,” he said as he stood with his bag packed, his room looking lavish, but stark and empty devoid of his presence.

Lila stood in the doorway, hands behind her back. He couldn’t read how she felt about this. Their time had devolved, dwindled, and yet even when they had done nothing- as long as they had done it together it felt so wonderful. He’d foolishly developed feelings, even knowing she was using him, even knowing it had to end.

“I guess it is,” she had replied, tone as blase as ever it was, “In all sincerity, I enjoyed our time together.”

“Me too,” Jalil replied. They were silent a moment, until he added, “You could come with me, you know.”

“To Paris?” she seemed surprised.

“You’ve been places all over Europe, why not Paris?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, “I couldn’t,”

“Why not?”

“I…” she bit her lip, “I promise Mama I would always return home. Going with you, I couldn’t do that anymore.”

“We could come and visit,” he offered.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” she shook her head again, “And you have your own commitments. I’m sorry,”

“Are you lying to me again?” Jalil asked.

“You have no idea how much I wish I was,” she replied. Then Lila stepped forward, into his arms and embraced him. He wasn’t content to leave it as benign as that and drew her into a kiss. He felt her hands moving, and when she withdrew he had a medallion hanging from his neck.

“What is this?” he picked it up and fingered it, it depicted a scarab, like the ones found in Egypt.

“You always said you wanted to go there,” Lila explained, “I know someone, who deals in antiques. I figured this way, you could always have a little piece of Egypt,” of me went unsaid but he heard it all the same, “with you.”

Jalil held Lila tightly to him again, “I’ll never forget you,” he promised.

“Nor I you,” she replied.

And Jalil walked out the door to board his train with only one thought in mind. Returning to Rome, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks, until next time everyone


	5. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a quiet moment offers time for reflection, and for questions Gabriel/Nathalie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest, after the rollercoaster that was today's episode I just wanted some fluffy Gabenath where they were already together and Nathalie didn't have to nurse a) a broken heart/unrequited crush or b) a slightly off-putting passion to do evil. If you've seen the episode you know what I'm talking about. Anyways, enjoy!

“Do you think they’re perhaps rushing into this?” Gabriel asked as he looked over the paper. Marinette was upstairs fiddling about with Tikki and some fabric or something. The house was quiet. Relatively quiet, aside from the other servants bustling about as they attended to their own duties.

“Rushing into what?” Nathalie asked as she sat in another armchair, a positively scandalous memoir lying open in her lap. Memoirs of another, more famous and literary inclined whore. Nathalie’s taste in literature varied, though he could see why she might have found the story sensational, if not titillating like most of the public had upon its first release.

“The engagement, the marriage,” Gabriel murmured, referring of course, to Adrien and Marinette, “They revealed themselves for one night and suddenly they think they’re ready to be together forever?”

“It’s not forever Gabriel,” Nathalie soothed as she licked her finger and turned another page, “Death always comes to collect,”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered darkly, reminded of memories he did not like facing without being blindingly drunk, “I’d just as soon punch the damn reaper in the face as go with him gladly.”

“Death has no personal vendetta against anyone,” Nathalie set her book to the side, already anticipating a debate, “I agree, what happened to Emilie was… tragic, to say the least. Forgive me if I sound cold, but I have been so marked by sorrow it ceases to affect me in the manner it perhaps should. I know it hurts, that it will always hurt, but I wonder; will you let this hurt control your life? Because if you do then Death wins without taking you.”

“I have, haven’t I?” Gabriel asked rhetorically, “Cold and cut off, sent my own son away to school, force him to do things he didn’t want, and now I’m even questioning the girl he’s chosen.”

“You aren’t questioning Marinette,” Nathalie replied, “You’re questioning the speed of their engagement. Let me ask you, how long did it take for you to marry Lady Agreste?”

“From the time I first met her? About six months, give or take.”

“So you knew it was love, from the very beginning?”

“I was far to stubborn to believe in love at first sight. But she was compelling and well… “it is a universal truth” and all that,”

“Quoting Austen? And here I thought you hated English works,”

“Much as I detest the English, as any sensible man would, I cannot deny there is some poetry in that.”

“And from an English woman, no less.”

“English women are far less annoying than their male counterparts.”

Nathalie raised a brow at that, “Speaking from experience, your grace?”

“Or so the rumor goes,”

“What a nice save,” Nathalie laughed, “So you fell in love, and your engagement could be considered relatively short in the long run of things. Did that make it any less real? Did that make your marriage anymore invalid?”

“No, no,” Gabriel mused thoughtfully, “I suppose it is a universal truth that old men like myself will constantly believe the younger generation to be rushing into things, forgetting how rash we ourselves were when we were young,”

“Don’t put yourself so far down as to say you’re old,” Nathalie pouted, “You’ve far too much stamina for that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,”

“Especially when it’s true,” Nathalie rose from her seat, plucking the newspaper out of his hands and setting it to the side before settling herself in his lap and looping her arms around him, “I mean it Gabriel. You’re not an old man, and I should know; I’ve had plenty of them.”

“I do so hate it when you bring up things like that,”

Instantly her tune changed, “Hate to be reminded you’re living in sin with a whore?” she asked curtly.

“No, not that,” Gabriel wrapped his own arms around her before she could get up and storm off, “When you mention such unpleasantries, I’m reminded of just how young you are. And how much younger still you must have been when…”

“It’s something all brothels do,” Nathalie replied quietly, tiredly resting her head on his, “Auction off a girl’s virginity to the highest bidder. Over, and over, and over again. Until at last she’s too used to be believed as one.”

“Did that happen to you?” he asked, though the answer was already obvious.

“Yes,” she sighed softly, “I never thought my last name fit me until I joined that world. But you can’t have a heart there, therein only lies heart break. And money, it all comes down to money.”

“I’m disgusted by the fact that the system exists,”

“You only complain because the problem lies within your own home,” Nathalie rebutted, “I’m sure even  _ you _ were trained under one of Madame’s older girls, before they too found someone to take them away from it all.”

“I… cannot argue that,” he said as he hung his head low. It seemed shameful now, with hindsight. How young gentlemen like he had been, like Adrien was now, were sent there to train themselves in the art of pleasing. Themselves or their woman was never quite clear.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Nathalie cupped his jaw, “It’s what was expected of you. And being so privileged, you would never think to recall that those girls are humans too. But we’re getting off topic, we were talking about Adrien and Marinette.”

“I can’t help but feel they’re rushing things, even though they’ve agreed to wait. Maybe it’s just me getting old, even if you seem to think I’m not quite there yet. Then again,” He sighed, “I’ve felt positively ancient since Emilie’s passing,”

Nathalie was silent a moment, deep in thought, “Would you want her back?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

‘If there was a way,” she explained, “To grant a wish. Would you want her back?”

He thought for a moment before replying, “At what cost?”

“What do you mean?” her head tilted to the side, coquettishly confused.

“You can’t bring back someone from the dead for nothing,” Gabriel reasoned, “There’s always a price to be paid. I’m sure Death doesn’t like losing a soul he’s harvested.”

“I suppose the easiest one would be a life for a life then,” Nathalie parried, “The life of someone else you hold dear, and she comes back.”

“And what would happen to you?”

“I don’t know,”

“Then, what choice would you have me make?”

“We’re not talking about-”

“Just answer the question Nathalie,” Gabriel cut off her protest.

“Well I…” she seemed to pause, taking it in, “I’d want you to do it,” she answered at last.

“Why?”

“It would make you happy,” Nathalie answered, “Would it not? To have your first love back? The mother of your child? A true lady?”

He looked at her, seeing that even though she said it she did not look happy to say so. Her countenance was softened, vulnerable, more so than any time other than when they were sharing a bed, or other horizontal surface, “And you would crush your own heart to spare mine?”

“Is that not what it means to love someone?”

There was nothing he could say to that. So he tightened his grip, and she fell into the embrace. Eventually he pulled back enough to give her an answer, “No.”

“No?”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Gabriel clarified, “I miss her. Of course I miss her, but surely, she continues to watch over me does she not? I wouldn’t trade this for her, nor do I think she would want me to.”

“You really think that?”

“She never wanted me to remain unwed if she passed on early,” Gabriel explained, “She believed I had a lot of love to give, and that if she couldn’t be the one to share in all of it, I should find another who could. I’m not saying you’re a replacement for her, just that you’re another person to share with. Emilie would have liked you.”

“You really think so?”

“She had a kind heart, much like yours beneath the stoic and amusedly disinterested facade you present. The fact that you would willingly give up the one you love if it could bring her back- she would have claimed you as a boon companion I’m sure.”

“That is perhaps… the first time I’ve seen you smile while talking about her.”

“I still miss her Nathalie,” Gabriel admitted, “The wound will always be there. I cannot guarantee you it will close and my heart can be wholly another’s ever again.”

“I could never ask you for that,” Nathalie parried, “The fact that you’re willing to spend your days with me it’s… it’s more than I ever dreamed of actually.”

“Says the former most popular paramour in Paris?”

“Surely you know those would have been temporary stints at best,” Nathalie shot him a look, “A nice arrangement until a younger, prettier flower caught their eye. I couldn’t do that to myself, or to Marinette, once I found her. We both needed stability, and I wasn’t pulling any genuine marriage proposals. Just more glorified mistress ones.”

“I suppose I owe those buffoons a small measure of thanks. If they hadn’t bungled their intentions so badly you might not be in my arms right now.”

Nathalie blushed and suddenly,

“Why are you crying?” Gabriel asked her.

She reached a hand to her cheek where a tear had tracked its way down her face, “I’m a little… overwhelmed. To say the least. I never thought I would meet someone who makes me feel the way you do. And that you genuinely care back, I was taught no damaged goods would ever be worth anything. But having no choice, I-”

“Did what you needed to do, I understand.” Gabriel kissed the track away. Then her jaw, then her lips. Nathalie kissed back, allowing her arms to wrap around him tightly and press them closer together. Was it perhaps fallacious to do so in here? Maybe. Then again, Adrien was the one who had always gotten the most use out of the library, until Nathalie had moved in. And the servants knew better than to disturb when the master was with his new lady.

She let out a soft sound and he knew he had her. She had once related to him how drawn out the sounds of the girls were in the bordello. And that her personal noises of pleasure were much quieter. It was always a fun challenge to make her forget that, get her to genuinely scream. But just as satisfying were the quiet sounds made only for his ears that expressed her pleasure. He broke them apart to cast a furtive glance at the clock on the mantel. And then, adjusting his position, he stood up with her in his arms.

“Where are you taking me?” she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face, along with the desire clouded eyes and healthy red stain at her cheeks. Her very voice sounded a titter with happiness.

“Well,” Gabriel replied playfully, “The night is still young. And according to you, so am I. Shall we not see what we might be able to accomplish with such time?”

“Carpe diem?” she teased, planting fleeting little kisses along his jaw, her hand twining into his styled hair and utterly ruining it. The other reaching for his cravat and trying to undo it without the aid of its mate. The effort did what it was perhaps meant to do, drive him near the brink of distraction.

“Carpe noctem,” he all but growled back at her, stealing another kiss that quickly turned long and drawn out. To the point where he had to set her down on her feet simply so that they could keep kissing.

“Much as I might like to christen the library with you,” she whispered, “I’d much rather do it when there’s less of a chance your future daughter in law could catch us.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” he teased with a wolfish grin.

“And do you remember how much  _ fun _ it was when we got interrupted at Madame’s?” Nathalie challenged, “And all we did back then was talk.”

“I wouldn’t mind repeating that experience now,” Gabriel nipped at her ear, causing her to gasp, “Albeit I hope for a much more mutually satisfying outcome.”

“Oh really?” she breathed, “Well then,” she grabbed his hand and began leading him out of the room, “I suppose that is entirely dependent upon your own ability.”

They reached his door and hastily went inside, shutting and latching it behind them. Immediately her hands were going for her strings, eyes hooded as she watched him while doing it blind. With a final pull the outer layer slipped to the floor, revealing the thin white chemise beneath.

A come-hither smile was firmly in place as she ran a hand through her loosened hair, “So your grace,” she challenged, sauntering over to where his bed lay, “Show me what you’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. And if you have any other pairings (romantic or not) you want to see in this universe, please let me know. Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next time


	6. Her Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caline often wonders what her place in the world is. Thanks to the Bourgeois' she finally finds it. Chloe & Caline and Caljean

Working for the Bourgeois family had to be the most prestigious position in Paris. Theoretically speaking. The Bourgeois were one of the most preeminent families in Paris. If she could work here, raise their daughter to a perfect match, then surely she would be the most sought after governess and tutor in the city. That was wonderful, a wonderful goal to strive for. But that was because Caline wanted to teach. So many tutors and governesses were in it for the money, but as the second daughter of a family that had been on the lower ends of nobility she knew what it cost to go through a debut. She knew how much families were willing to pay to see their daughters properly married off, and she knew just how painful and damaging the process could be. Her own tutors had seen to that.

Caline had decided on the night she was supposed to debut she would never marry. She didn’t want to bring another child, especially not another girl into that sort of pain. And besides, her sister had only barely made a good enough match, and she was the beauty of the family. How could Caline, with her Irish looking hair, and the freckles that spoke of too much time in the sun, marring her otherwise perfect porcelain complexion, and the too big eyes she had, ever possibly hope to win a gentleman over. Eventually, he would see her in a state of undress, and then it would be too late. Because, as her bitter spinster of an aunt liked to sniff disdainfully as she looked down her nose, Caline was a troublemaker. Though she abided by the rules when eyes were on her, she had a bad habit of breaking them if they didn’t align with her own moral compass. 

“She’s too naive,” Aunt Mathilde would say, “She believes everyone is good, when that simply isn’t true. Some unscrupulous character will seduce her out of her chemise before she has the good sense to ask for a promise of marriage, and a binding contract to go with it. And why? Because she believe him when he tells her he loves her. Ha! Who would love a little naive hellcat like her? Always getting into trouble, even if you did manage to take away the physical flaws her personality would drive men away before the end of the first dance!”

The older Caline had gotten, the worse those remarks had become. She tried not to let them bother her, she  _ liked _ her looks after all, and the children she played with often made her be the princess since she was the most delicate looking of all of them. But as time passed, and those rough girls Caline had known transformed themselves for the marriage mart, it seemed their appearances had changed on more than the outside. They no longer thought to stand up when people were being oppressed by the system they actively benefitted from. Caline remembered being in the shop of the modiste to pick up a gown and saw a girl she had known as a child yell at an assistant because her dress needed a few more adjustments before it would be ready. Caline had been shocked, and she’d instantly rallied to the worker’s defense. All that had achieved was her former friend looking down at her and disdainfully saying she would never change.

Caline knew it was all talk, that it wasn’t true, because it came from people who had let their hearts sour. But, even among the servants when she came to work at the Bourgeois home, she was treated as different. She didn’t blame them, though she was working for a living just like all the rest of them she came from a different class. And it wasn’t as though her family had suffered financial ruin and she needed to work for the money -a story that would garner her sympathy from most if not all else under the Bourgeois’ employ. No, she had been born into a life of relative luxury and had purposefully chosen to give it up. And that was a story that didn’t exactly endear her to those around her. They thought she was flighty and impulsive, and that as soon as she saw how difficult it was to handle the little miss, she would turn tail and run back home to her mother and father. Caline was too above them in status to really be considered a servant, but she wasn’t quite high enough to be an equal to her employers. And that meant, she had no place, socially, in the Bourgeois household.

Chin up Caline, she told herself during that first week. She would need to settle and then hopefully she could begin making friends. And then, she had met Chloe. To her credit, Chloe could be a very sweet and considerate girl. There was only one problem, Chloe idolized her largely absent mother Audrey, and in an attempt to be close to her emulated her rather atrocious behavior. Clearly, Caline would have her work cut out for her.

“Now Chloe,” Caline cajoled, trying to calm down the little heiress who was intent on throwing a temper tantrum. What the cause was, Caline didn’t know and she doubted Chloe remembered, “Why don’t you come down from there and we’ll talk things out-”

“No!” the child, maybe seven years of age, retorted, “I don’t want to! I hate you! You’re fired!”

“Chloe please,” Caline held up her hands, attempting to get her to come down from the table and put the expensive candelabra down, “Please come down before you hurt yourself,”

“NO!” Chloe bellowed, “Get out of here! I don’t want you, Jean-Neive!” the faithful butler and head of the household was there in a flash,

“Mademoiselle?” he inquired politely, not even visibly phazed by the situation in front of him.

“Get my daddy! I want my Daddy and I want her gone! She’s fired!”

Caline hunched up her shoulders defensively, surely as dedicated as the butler was he wouldn’t take the words of Chloe at face value like that. Surely, he had to know she was just being stubborn and willful. Oh please let him realize that.

“Alright mademoiselle,” Jean agreed without hesitation. Caline felt faint, no, she couldn’t be fired without even a week having gone by, right? “But, before I alert your father as to the change in the household, I brought you something,”

Chloe narrowed her eyes, slowly dropping the candelabra from its raised height in her hands, “What?”

From behind his back Jean brought out an exquisitely crafted stuffed animal. Chloe lit up like a mid-morning sun, “Mister Cuddly!” she exclaimed, dropping the valuable item for her beloved bear. Without even flinching Jean was able to step forth, catch the object and make the trade. Chloe hugged the bear close to her heart, nuzzling her face against its faux fur. It was nearly as big as the child herself was, and… was that… was that a silk ribbon encrusted with gems Caline saw tied around its neck? Now that she thought about it, those eyes, had those been onyx?

“There now,” Jean cajoled, gently helping Chloe to sit at the edge of the dining room table, “Now, what was the madam doing that upset you so dearly?”

“She wanted to make me  _ read _ !” Chloe glared at Caline.

“But Miss Chloe,” Caline argued, “Your mother reads, don’t you want to be as smart and accomplished as your mother one day?”

“Mom reads?” Chloe looked at her skeptically, still holding her teddy bear close but allowing Jean to pick her up into his own arms.

“O-of course Madame reads,” Caline quickly replied, “Perhaps she’s so busy she usually has people read for her, but she does know how to read. She has to, or else people would try to take advantage of her by telling her things were or weren’t written. She even has to sign her name to important documents.”

“Sign?”

“Ah… yes,” Caline struggled a moment to think of a way she could encourage Chloe to begin her learning which her other nannies had apparently given up on, “If you know how to sign your name, you can put your name on things. And if you can do that, that’s how you show that something belongs to you.”

“So…” Chloe began slowly, “If I put my name on Jean-Claude here, that means he’s mine?”

“Ah, as long as your name is on him, I suppose,” Caline shot the butler an apologetic look as Chloe was still mulling things over.

“Then that means… If I put my name on Adrien, he’s mine then,”

“Adrien?” Caline questioned.

“Yes,” Chloe huffed, “Don’t you know anything?”

“Mademoiselle is referring to the young Lord Agreste,” Jean supplied.

“Oh, oh yes, my apologies Chloe,” Caline corrected herself, “Well, I suppose if you could get him to hold still long enough to write your name on him, then…”

“Alright then,” Chloe huffed, “Write my name for me,”

“Chloe, you, you need to learn how to do it yourself,” Caline hesitantly countered, afraid this might start the whole thing up again, “You do know how to write your own name, don’t you?”

Chloe sniffed, “How utterly ridiculous!” she pronounced, “Of course… I mean naturally I would…” she trailed off for a moment and, after a nod from Jean she sighed, admitting, “Actually, no, the other teachers never told me I could learn to write my own name. They thought I was too stupid.”

Caline felt her heart break for this child. For all the prominence the Bourgeois family held in society, they really were broken, weren’t they? Madame Audrey was never around, and to make up for her absence Lord Andre spoiled his daughter absolutely rotten. And because he never dared to stand up to her, Chloe never did anything she didn’t want to do. And thanks to her willful and stubborn attitude, everyone else had basically given up on her already, certain that she wouldn’t make anything of herself other than some unlucky lord’s overbearing and incompetent wife.

“Oh Chloe,” Caline soothed, “You’re not stupid. They just… didn’t know how to teach you.”

“And what makes you think  _ you _ do?”

“I don’t know if I do,” Caline admitted, “But I’m willing to try, if you are,” she held out her hand, patiently waiting to see if the child would take it. Chloe remained suspended in Jean’s arms, thinking it over. After what felt like an eternity, Caline felt a tiny little hand placed in her own, “Come on Chloe,” she told her charge, “Let’s show everyone just how exceptional you are.”

MLB

“I have to admit Mademoiselle Bustier,” Jean remarked as Caline sat down to a late dinner that night. She’d been expecting herself to be the only one in the kitchen. And the butler had nearly given her a heart attack as he spoke, “That was quite impressive,”

“What was?” Caline said around delicate bites of her meager meal as her heart tried to calm down from its impromptu bit of excitement.

“The way you convinced Miss Chloe to attend her lessons for the day,” Jean explained, “Even I have not yet been able to do that.”

“Well,” Caline admitted, “I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if you hadn’t been able to calm her down first. You really saved me back there, though I have to admit I was more than a little frightened when you agreed to Chloe’s assessment of my being fired.”

“I never intended to carry out that particular order,” Jean confided in her, “You’re the first governess who has seemed to really wish to educate Mademoiselle, so naturally I wouldn’t let a simple whim of hers send you away. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Oh?” Caline felt her cheeks heat, but nodded with a smile, “You know, I think this is the first meal I’ve been able to share with someone since I got here.”

“Really now?” Jean raised a brow at her, “And why do you think that might be?”

“I’m not sure,” Caline admitted, “It’s probably got something to do with both my position and my background. I’m sure the others think I’m just a hopped up rich girl who doesn’t know her place.”

“And where might your place be?” Jean enquired.

“Right now?” Caline asked in response, “I think right now my place is right here.”

MLB

“Caline,” Chloe asked, “Do you think I’m selfish?”

“Why would you ask something like that Chloe?” Caline asked in response.

“I ordered the chef to make me a cake and as I walked away I heard her calling me a selfish brat,”

“Oh dear,” Caline replied, “Well, when did you… er, ask Chef to make you this cake?”

“A few moments ago,” Chloe answered. And Caline felt a little frustrated with this response. It was nearly lunch time, and Chef was likely putting the finishing touches on the afternoon meal. No wonder, and Chloe, being Chloe, probably hadn’t even realized she was being a bother.

“Well…” Caline begin, careful to tread cautiously so as not to upset Chloe. As the year had continued on she felt she’d made a bit of progress with her student. Unfortunately, that progress had been absolutely diminished when Audrey had returned to the Bourgeois home on an impromptu visit. And naturally, all the staff were under a lot of stress due to the Madame’s overly critical eye, “I think what you did was a bit selfish,” she admitted, “But I think everyone does selfish things sometimes. The only selfish thing you did was pick the wrong time to ask Chef. maybe next time, if you see someone is busy, maybe wait.”

“But they’re servants!” Chloe protested, “They’re here to  _ serve me _ , so why is that a bad thing?”

“Because Chloe,” Caline picked up the child and settled her on her lap, “While yes, the servants are here to help you, they also have things they need to do for your parents. You wouldn’t want your father to go hungry, right?”

“Well…”

“Or how about your mother?”

“No!” Chloe was quick to reply, “Was she making mom’s meal?”

“Perhaps she was, would your mother appreciate her meal being delayed because you wanted a cake?”

“No…” Chloe pouted, looking lost and forlorn, “She would think I’m selfish, wouldn’t she?”

“I…” Caline wanted to assure the child that no mother could possibly think that way of their own child no matter how badly they behaved, but the truth was Caline couldn’t say that of Audrey Bourgeois, “I don’t know, Chloe. I wish I did, but I can’t say what your mom would or wouldn’t think of you. But I don’t think you’re selfish, I think that, just like everybody, you do and say selfish things sometimes. That doesn’t make you a bad person,”

“Everybody does selfish things?” Chloe looked up at her, “Even you?”

“Well, yes,” Caline told her, “My parents wanted me to marry some boring nobleman, but I would rather be here with you instead, don’t you think that’s selfish of me?”

Chloe’s eyes were wide and shining, “You’d rather be here with, with  _ me _ ?”

“Of course I would,”

“More than anywhere else in the whole wide world?”

“More than anything beyond all of that,”

Chloe pouted for a moment, before turning around and giving Caline a big hug. It was brief, and fleeting, but it meant the world to the governess.

“I… I’d rather have you here too,” Chloe said as she slid off of Caline’s lap, reached for a sheet of parchment and scribbled something across its surface. She handed it to Caline, and the older woman saw it was Chloe’s name written out beautifully, “After all, you’re mine. Your place is here.”

MLB

“I can’t stand him,” Chloe complained several years later, “Out of all the famous painters Daddy could have commissioned for my portrait he got the most insufferable one of all!”

“Oh Chloe,” Caline tutted as she needlessly tidied up her room. Chloe was a young woman who’d successfully made her debut into society, though she still had quite a bit of her mother’s fickle nature and had turned down every suitor that came her way. She believed herself too good for all of them and took sadistic joy in finding ways to make the more persistent ones leave. All because she believed Adrien was the only one worthy of her, “Are you sure you didn’t do anything to provoke this young man’s ire?”

“Me? Of course not. That’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!”

It was honestly a miracle Chloe hadn’t turned out worse. And that she’d blatantly said she would throw the worst fit in Paris if Caline were to have to leave her. Productive selfishness, surprisingly enough. But Chloe would always be Chloe, and Caline had to admit she had too many issues to solve in just twelve years, especially when those issues kept coming back and setting her back with every visit.

“Chloe,” Caline cajoled, knowing that the young lady was lying. She was over the top and dramatic, but when she lied like this it was even more obvious, but she didn’t want to openly talk about it, so she forced others to force her.

“What?” Chloe put her hands on her hips as she faced her governess, “I didn’t.”

“Did you now?” Caline shrugged, “Alright, if you say so…”

“Well…” Chloe began, and there it was, “I… may have insulted him, just a little.”

“And what about him did you insult?”

“I asked Daddy to get me the best painter in Europe, and he… didn’t look the part so I insinuated he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh Chloe,” Caline let out a bemused sigh, “And you wonder why he responded to you like that?”

“It didn’t sound so obvious until I talked to you about it,” Chloe pouted as she settled into a chair, folding her arms and huffing petulantly.

“It never does dear,” Caline shrugged, “Let me put it to you this way, do you think it’s going to be enjoyable for either of you if you do this painting with such a sour relationship?”

“No…”

“So maybe you should apologize?”

“Do I  _ have _ to?”

“Well, no, but remember, he  _ is _ the one painting your portrait. You wouldn’t want him to do a bad job of it, would you?”

“Of course not!”

“If you don’t like the thought of apologizing because it’s the right thing to do, think of it as a way to get you the best possible result, it being the right thing to do is… just a bonus, alright?”

“Why is it you always know just what to say?” Chloe said that as though it were a bad thing, “Do you think I should do it because it gets me what I want, or because it’s the right thing?”

“You already know the answer to that Chloe,” Caline replied, “But if you don’t want to rely on my advice, why not ask Jean? You’re as comfortable around him as you are me, and he would know more about how men think.”

“Jean this and Jean that, geez!” Chloe huffed as she rose, “It’s almost like you like him or something.”

MLB

“This is a disaster,” Chloe lamented, “I wasn’t supposed to fall for him. I was supposed to marry Adrien. My life was supposed to be perfect!”

“I don’t see how it still can’t be if that’s what you really want,” Caline soothed. Chloe was lying on her bed with her head in her tutor’s lap. Overdramatic as always, but this time things really seemed to be bothering her. She’d developed feelings for the young artist who was painting her portrait. And just as her father had finally gotten her what she’d always thought she’d wanted, Adrien’s hand in marriage.

“But, but, he’d never, Nathaniel wouldn’t…” Chloe wasn’t making any sense, that was how upset she was.

“You could still marry Adrien,” Caline said, hating herself even as she said it, “And be with Nathaniel, if he wanted to be with you that badly,”

“But, but what about the church?” Chloe asked, “What about vows? What would he  _ think _ of me?” She didn’t specify who  _ he _ was, but Caline had a feeling she knew all the same.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a noble has cheated on their spouse if they didn’t love them,” Caline said sadly, she’d seen some of the antics Lady Audrey got up to while in residence. Poor, poor Lord Andre, and even poorer Chloe.

“I couldn’t do that to Adrikins!” Chloe lamented, “He, he doesn’t deserve that,”

“Then I’m not sure what I can tell you, Chloe,” Caline said as she continued petting her hair, “Like it or not, you’re a grown woman. You’re capable of making your own decisions. On the one hand, you have Adrien, a friend you love and have wanted to be with since you were young. The one man who might finally make Lady Audrey vocally proud of you. And don’t try to deny it, I’ve seen enough for myself. But on the other, there’s this Nathaniel, you feel like you love him. And being with him makes you happy, are you willing to give up that happiness to make your mother happy? Or will you be selfish and do what your heart is telling you to do?”

“You think loving him is selfish?”

“There are people, especially Lady Audrey, who will see it that way.”

“Well,” Chloe sniffed, wiping away her tears as she sat up, “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being selfish, isn’t it?” Caline merely smiled in response, and Chloe gave her teacher a hug, “Thanks Caline. I don’t know what I would do without you and Pollen.”

“Speaking of Pollen,” Caline picked up, “I think she’s waiting for you outside,”

“Wait,” Chloe said before she left, “Caline… did, did  _ you _ ever have someone like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like Nathaniel?” Chloe asked, “Did you give them up for me?”

Caline thought back, back all those years. And through them all was Jean, supporting her and supporting Chloe. Helping her reign in the young lady’s worse whims, cheering them both up almost instinctively. And, Caline flushed to remember that one drunken kiss under the mistletoe they’d shared at one of the servants’ Christmas parties. But, they’d never said anything about it after that. How could they? When there was Lady Chloe to worry about?

“I… no, Chloe,” Caline for the first time in her life, outright lied to Chloe. But was it really a lie, when being with Jean wouldn’t have meant them leaving her for each other? “There was never anyone like that.”

Chloe stared at her a long moment, “Oh,” she replied, and then she walked off.

MLB

Caline couldn’t believe the words coming out of her charge’s mouth as Chloe stood up to her own mother in defense of her fiance. How far the child she’d met so long ago had come. Caline felt maternal pride swelling up in her chest at the sigh. Chloe admitted her faults, in public no less, and admitted that Nathaniel knew about all of them. But she also said that he made her want to be better. She really was growing up, wasn’t she? It hadn’t really hit Caline until just now. And feeling a bit misty-eyed, she left the room at the same time as Audrey. The Bourgeois garden was as immaculate as ever. And the night air was crisp and clean and refreshing. Caline dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief as she stared up at the evening sky.

“You know,” a voice in the darkness startled her, “I thought I might find you out here.”

Jean, it was Jean. But of course, wasn’t it always Jean? He stepped out of the shadows and towards her.

“Jean,” Caline curtseyed, “What are you doing out here?”

He was supposed to be working. He knew that, they both did.

“I came to check on you,” Jean answered, “I saw you walk out and… well, Lady Chloe has certainly grown up, hasn’t she?”

“I was,” Caline let out a wistful laugh, “Just thinking the same thing. It’s ridiculous I know, but I feel so… proud. And for a moment I thought,”

“That’s my girl, no?” Jean finished for her.

Caline turned to him with an almost blank look on her face, even as understanding was alight in her eyes, “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“I had the same feeling myself,” Jean confided in her, “Funny, isn’t it?”

“I suppose…” there was silence between the two, until Jean asked,

“Tell me Mademoiselle Bust-” he paused for a moment, as though thinking better of himself before continuing, “Caline,” he’d never used her name before now, it made her heart pound and her cheeks flush, “Tell me, why have you never married?”

“Pardon?”

“Why have you never married? Had children of your own? You would be such a wonderful mother, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Caline lied, “I suppose it was because no one ever asked me.”

“Then they are fools,” Jean told her, “You’re a smart, beautiful, and capable woman. Any man would be lucky to have you,”

“Any man, you say,” Caline let out a breath of laughter, “You always were good at making a lady feel better.”

“I mean what I say, in earnest,” Jean told her, “Unless… Caline, was there someone you held affections for? Is that why you never married?”

“Hold,”

“Pardon?”

“Someone I  _ hold _ affections for, not held,” so long as he didn’t ask her who exactly it was she held said affections for, there wouldn’t be any harm in talking about it, right?

“Would you tell me who?”

“No Jean,” Caline shook her head, “I know I’ve confided in you a lot over the years. And I consider you my closest friend. But this, no, I’m sorry but I just can’t.”

“Is it because he’s already married?”

“What? No!” Caline laughed, “No, no, nothing of the sort. But I appreciate the rage on my behalf at the thought of my feelings being taken advantage of by a cad. He’s just… never said anything to indicate he might have feelings for me in that manner, so I…”

“I see,” Jean said quietly, “And you… still hold affections for this man, even now?”

“I do,”

“Might you then,” Jean cleared his throat, and was it her imagination or did he look… nervous? “Might you then permit me a chance to change that, or do you think my pursuit of you to be a fruitless one?”

“I… I’m sorry?” she’d heard him wrong, she had to have heard him wrong.

“Caline, I apologize if my feelings come as a burden to you,” Jean took her by the shoulders and faced her squarely, “But as I have watched you with Mademoiselle, I… I can’t explain it, the years passed and you were so wonderful with her, and determined and strong. I began to develop feelings for you, but as you occupied a place above even my own I didn’t think it would be… I was afraid, afraid if I pushed you, you might leave, and leave Lady Chloe all by herself again. And now you might still leave, but, she… you made her strong, so I wanted to ask if you might share that strength with me.”

“Oh Jean,” she said, “I, this is going to make you feel a little ridiculous but,”

“Are my feelings unwanted then?”

“Oh no, no, that man… you. It’s you Jean. I hold feelings for you.”

“Me?” he sounded incredulous, “All this time, and you never told me?”

“To be fair, you never told me either,”

“A mistake I intend to rectify immediately,” he promised, swooping down and kissing her chastely, “Caline, I love you. Truly and sincerely love you. And I would be honored if you could requite my feelings by even a fraction.”

“It’s more than a fraction Jean,” Caline replied, “I love you too.”

They kissed again. And as they broke away, resting their foreheads together, Jean smiled, “My dearest love.”

“My dearest love,”

From the shadows near the door, Chloe rested in her fiance’s arms. There was a contented smile on her face and as Nathaniel pondered her thoughts she whispered, “I knew it.”

Caline’s place, she’d finally found it. And it was in Jean-Francois’ arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read? Leave a comment and let me know. Until next time everyone


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